


How to Brew Glory

by CantSpeakFae



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Angst and More Angst, Child Abuse, Dark!Harry, Dumbledore Bashing, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, Gen, Harry's sass intensifies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Ministry Bashing, Morally Grey Severus Snape, No shipping yet because they're all eleven, Severitus, Slytherin!Harry, Slytherin!Hermione - Freeform, Slytherin!Ron, Snape isn't a douche in this one, father/son relationship, referenced abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-15 12:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13031229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CantSpeakFae/pseuds/CantSpeakFae
Summary: "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."***Harry James Potter is no ordinary boy. For one thing, his parents loved him more than anything: even life itself. They made the  ultimate sacrifice so that he would have the chance to see another day. For another, he's spent his whole eleven years on this earth in hiding with Severus Snape, the only father that he's ever known, so he can have a chance at a normal life. Oh, and one more thing? He's a wizard. And a very gifted on at that.But nothing gold can ever stay, and soon life as he knows it comes crashing down again. Dumbledore still has a job for the Boy Who Lived, and will do anything to get him to Hogwarts and onto the path that he's created for him. But is anyone at Hogwarts prepared for a Chosen One as raised by a former Death Eater?





	1. Prologue: Marked as his Equal

_The rain had stopped, but that did nothing to make the night any less cold or wet. Puddles of water splashed under his feet, dampening the hem of his robe. Nearby, two children dressed as pumpkins were playing; splashing in the water with buckets of candy sitting nearby. They had no fear. No care. Their world was wrapped up in paper spiders and statues of ugly woman painted up to be witches. They’d laugh in the face of a world that they’d never understand...in which they’d never believe. Not until it was too late for them all...he’d make sure of that. That was his purpose. His drive. The thrill of power and the warm burn of rightness inside of him. Triumph was his; he could taste it. After all these years of waiting, now was his time…_

_“Hey mister!” A small child called to him, as he drew near. “Nice costume!”_

_He didn’t deign to look at the boy. He didn’t have to. As the child grew near enough to get a glimpse of what lurked under the hood of his cloak, his smile faltered. His face, painted up like a clown, grew cloudy with fear and he turned to run away. Inhumanely long and thin fingers stroked at the handle of his wand, hidden beneath his cloak. The bloodlust was consuming him. Anticipation for the act ahead, no doubt. Could it hurt to whet his appetite? One small move and the child would never reach his mother._

_No. Tonight was not the time. This was not the place. The less warning they had, the better._  
  
_He kept the pace of his stride up until the street grew darker. The signs newer. A little house appearing in the middle of two innocuous ones, as if it had always been there. This part of the street was out of the way of the trick or treaters that would be prowling about, tonight. The inhabitants of this home must have considered themselves lucky for that small favour. They didn’t know how their lives hung so precariously in the balance. They didn’t know that the last of their hopes were shattered, along with the Fidelius Charm that had been broken. And he, himself, made less noise than the wet leaves that sloshed beneath his feet._

_He stepped onto the walk, just outside of the house, and peered over a dark hedge. Arrogant fools. They’d not drawn the curtains; he could see them in their little sitting room. The tall, dark haired man was stretched out lazily across the couch. His glasses were slightly askew on his face, perhaps knocked out of place by the eager child that was sitting in his lap. The child’s hands were reaching into the air, following the puffs of brightly coloured smoke that were erupted from the man’s wand. He was laughing, his small face pinched with delight._

_He strained, listening when the man spoke._

_“Lily?” He called, tickling his son’s side. “...We could still take Harry out trick or treating, you know. I bet they wouldn’t even mind that he doesn’t have a costume.”_

_A door swung open and the mother entered, speaking too softly for him to hear.  The disappointment in the man’s face made it clear that his proposition had been denied. She shook her head and her long, dark-red hair fell into her face. Too dangerous, she must have said. He wanted to laugh. It was too late for them. The danger was already her._

_The father handed the child over, tossing his wand aside and stretching himself further onto the couch. He yawned, likely murmuring words of agreement, but he was already on the move again. The gate gave a metallic groan as he pushed it open, but neither James nor Lily Potter heard it._  
  
_The spell that blasted the door open was wordless, his wand barely slipped out from his robes. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. He was defenseless; the fool hadn’t even picked up his wand on his way to investigate._

_“Lily!” James Potter yelled, voice frantic. “It’s him! Take Harry and go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”_

_Easy. Too easy. Hold him off? Without a wand? He laughed as he cast the curse._  
  
_" **Avada Kedavra!** " _  
  
_The flash of green light was blinding; illuminating every inch of the cramped hallway and reflecting off of the pram that was pushed against the wall. The banisters glowed with its eerie light. And then, it was over. James Potter was dead before his body hit the ground._

_Upstairs, Lily Potter was already screaming. Perhaps she knew that her dear husband had already been disposed of; or maybe she knew that she had nowhere to go. No matter. As long as the girl was sensible, she would have nothing to fear._

_He stepped over James Potter’s body without a second thought, his boot sinking into the dead man’s back as he took to the stairs. He climbed the steps, listening to the sound of furniture being moved. She was attempting to barricade herself in; no wand upon her either. How stupid they were, how trusting, to think that their safety lay in friends. That their only weapons could be discarded, even for a moment._  
  
_Another wordless spell and the door was blasted open. The rocking chair and few boxes that had been piled against it were cast aside too. There she was, with the child in her arms. Her dark-red hair creating a curtain so that he could not see the boy’s face. At the sight of him, she dropped him into his crib and whirled around, arms outstretched. As though she could shield him. As though she could save him. Silly little girl._  
  
_"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_  
  
_"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside now."_  
  
_"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead --"_  
  
_"This is my last warning--"_  
  
_"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please -- I'll do anything--"_  
  
_"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"_

_He could have forced her to move. One flick of his wand and she would have been cast aside, unable to stop him from finishing what he’d come here to do...but then, why leave any loose ends?_

_“ **Avada Kedavra** !” _

_The green light flashed again, illuminating the room, and the woman dropped like her husband, the scream of fear for her child still etched on her face. No matter. She was no longer of any importance. There was only the child, now._

_He had not cried. Not once. Not even as his mother was killed in front of him. No, he had only pulled himself up within his crib, clutching the bars of his crib to keep himself upright as he looked to the intruder with bright interest. As unintelligent as its parents, it seemed. Perhaps the boy thought that it was his father who hid his face beneath the cloak, making more light for his amusement. Perhaps he expected the woman to get back up, cheerful and loving as always._

_He smiled as he pointed the wand in the boy’s face; aiming very carefully. He must see it happen, he told himself. He must watch the life leave the boy’s eyes as he was met with the same fate as his parents. He must be sure--there could be no doubts! None at all, when he finally eradicated this one, inexplicable danger._

_The child began to cry._

_It was a pitiful wailing sound, brought forth by the realization that this man was not James. He sneered. He never liked crying, he had often found interesting ways to silence the small ones at the orphanage when their wailing made his stomach turn._

_This was it._  
  
_**"Avada Kedavra!"** ****_  
  
_Pain._

_Unbelievable pain. Agony unlike anything he’d ever felt. Lord Voldemort shattered in place, breaking into pieces that were scattered all over the floor. He ceased to exist; he was nothing, nothing but the pain and terror that flooded through his being. He must go. He must hide himself here in the ruins of this house, where the child was trapped and screaming, his wails witnessed by no one but the corpses of his parents…_

* * *

_It’s not too late._

That was the only coherent thought in Severus Snape’s mind. Playing over again in a prayer to whatever god might be listening. The rain had picked back up again, soaking him through his robes, but that was the least of his worries. His legs were moving faster than they ever had before, the houses in the little, muggle village passing by in a blur.

_It’s not too late._

He had to believe that. Where was the house?! If the charm had truly been broken, he should be able to see it by now...but maybe the sources were wrong. Maybe it was all a lie. A damned, foolish lie. That was what it had to be. The alternative was unthinkable.

_It’s not too late._

He ran until the street turns darker. He ran until there were no signs of children anywhere, begging for candy. He ran until he could feel the sizzle of magic in the air. He ran until he could _see_ it. The house. It was there, and it was in _ruins_. No. No. No. No. No.

_It’s not too late. It’s not too late. It’s not too late._

There’s no door to enter through. The house had erupted, and Severus had to jump over the large sections of roof that have fallen in front of it. There was a gaping hole in the side of the house, and he entered through there, finding the living room. The air was still and quiet. A wand sat on the couch, among the rubble. He saw it as a sign of good fortune. If _he_ had come, neither James nor Lily would have gone without their wand. Something else must have happened. Something that isn’t this. Perhaps they destroyed the place themselves?

_It’s not too late._

He drew his own wand from his robes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The tip of his wand lit up with a breathless command and he held it out from himself, carefully stepping over the ruins. No sign of the Potters in the living room. Relief swelled up inside of him but he swallowed it back down before it could consume him. He couldn’t afford to get his hopes up now. He turned toward the staircase, making it all the way over to the bottom step, and glancing down the dark hallway out of paranoia more than urgency.

That was when he saw him.

Even in the wreckage, there was no mistaking James Potter. He was lying limply among the wreckage, glasses askew. Severus roared, hurrying to his side and turning the man over. He pressed his fingers to James Potter’s throat...no pulse. No life in his open eyes. Only the residual fear that he must have felt, and Severus felt his throat swell shut. He saw no wand nearby...so his was the one that was left on the couch?

“Arrogant fool as always, _Potter_.” Severus sneered. He didn’t recognize his own voice. It had become alien to him. Broken and unfamiliar. “Thinking that you can take on a dark wizard without a wand...Gryffindor to the bitter end.”

The words have no meaning. They fall from his mouth because the only other option is to scream. Scream because if James Potter has fallen, then what chance is there that--no!

_It’s not too late. It’s not too late. It’s not too late._

He reaches down and closes the eyes of James Potter, leaving the body so that he can run up the stairs. Lily and the child must have escaped. James Potter wouldn’t have run at a dark wizard without a wand if he wasn’t sure that his wife and child could be spared. He had to believe that.

**_It’s not too late!_ **

It’s only when he reaches the top of the stairs that he hears the muffled squalling. That he sees the full extent of the damage. The roof is completely gone. The door to the boy’s room is still open and she...she...she’s there. Lying on the floor, her dark-red hair fanned out beneath her body. Her eyes are lifeless...yet somehow still pleading. The sight finally tears a cry from Severus’ lips and he throws himself into the room and onto the floor, frantically pulling Lily Potter into his arms. He checks for a pulse, just as he had with James. There’s nothing. He taps at her cheek with the flat of his hand, refusing to believe what his senses are telling him. Lily cannot be dead. There can be no world where she does not exist. She-

The whimpering gets louder, and draws Severus’ attention to the crib next to Lily’s body. He’s half convinced that he’s going to find that the child is dead, too. That the cries are his own; or that they’re the echoes of the tragedy. But the boy...he’s there. Sitting in the crib with fresh tears on his cheeks and blood drying against a mark on his forehead. For a moment, Severus only clutches Lily closer to himself. It’s _his_ fault that this has happened. If it wasn’t for that child and his bastard of a father, Lily wouldn’t be in his arms now. Not like this.

But the cries grow more insistent. Cutting through the anguished fog in his brain like a knife through butter. Reality creeps in, slowly. He’s unwilling to let go of Lily...even for a second...but also unable to leave the child by himself. There’s nothing to be done for Lily...as painful as that is to think. But the child lives. Her child lives.

He gently lays her back onto the floor, slowly pushing himself up to his knees and then to his feet, moving to the crib as though he’s in a dream. Part of the ceiling caved into the crib, he realized, with a dull sort of horror. The boy had somehow escaped death once only to nearly be crushed by the weight of the the only safe place he had in the world crashing down around him.

He reached into the crib and pulled the child free of the wreckage without much thought at all, every motion fueled by pure instinct. Unable to process the grisly scene all around him. Unwilling to accept it as truth.

The child in his grasp lies limply against him, finding comfort even as the man offers none. Soothing himself back from frantic cries to soft whimpers. To Severus, there is no moment that can exist outside of this one. No way to go forward, and no way to go back. What can he possibly do? It’s over.

He can sense it...the connection between his mark and the Dark Lord are severed. It’s a dull feeling of silence, but the kind that is only noticed in the absence of the any background murmurings. But what does it mean to him that the war is won if the most important battle was lost?

He doesn’t look at Lily. He can’t.

And what of the boy?

James’ spawn. Lily’s child. The two images those thoughts bring don’t match.  Severus holds the boy away from himself, looking him over. He’ll grow to be the spitting image of James, he realized. He was already well on his way already...save for the scar. The lasting mark of dark magic.

The child squirms in his grasp, gaze lifting to look curiously at Severus. And it’s only then that he sees them. Lily’s eyes, gazing back at him from the child’s small, tearful face.

_It’s too late. Too late for her._

_It’s not too late. Not too late for him._

“...Harry.”

The word is unfamiliar on his tongue. He’s heard it a thousand times before but never once cared to speak it...never once thought to call Lily’s child by name. Lily’s child...not just the spawn of that arrogant toe rag. But Lily’s son. A child who had just witnessed unspeakable horrors before he could speak at all. A child whose life was stretching out in front of him, promising nothing but pain as the years went on. The Dark lord was defeated, but that meant nothing for the war.

The war that Lily had given her life to protect him from. And he’d be damned if he let her sacrifice be in vain.

Holding Harry James Potter closer to himself, again, Severus Snape disappeared into the night with nothing but a faintly audible ‘pop’.


	2. Chapter One: The Boy who Vanished

It was often remarked, by nearby cul de sacs, that you could live a thousand years without ever meeting a group of people as unpleasant, intolerant, and nosy as those who lived along Privet Drive. It was impossible to talk about anything without being overheard by an eavesdropping neighbor with their windows down, or by a passing mailman who slowed their walk simply to listen in. There were no secrets in all of Privet drive...at least, not well-kept ones. 

Which was why it was surprising that no one was talking about the cat.

It was not one that belonged to anyone on the Drive; that much could be assured from its lack of collar. But it didn’t appear a stray, either. There was no feral look to its eyes, and its fur was smooth and sleek. Normally any animal, from a passing raccoon to a stick thin dog, seen in Privet drive was a source of discussion. Neighbors loudly debating among themselves over whether or not they should call animal control; blaming others who lived in the Cul de sac for the state of the creature or the disruption that it brought.

And yet the cat, who did nothing but sit along the brick wall of Number four’s garden, went unnoticed. As though no one could see it at all.

But the cat could see everything. The people who came and went. The bony mother with the pursed lips doting on a round, screaming child who did nothing but smack at her whenever he couldn’t get his chubby fists on a toy or sweet. The cat could see the man with the large mustache as he left for and then came back from work. And it could see the other neighbors as they went about their business until night came and they all tucked themselves away into their homes at a respectable hour.

More importantly than all of that, though, the cat could see the man who appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, at a quarter to midnight, popping into existence as though he’d been there all along. A man who was unlike any man who had ever stepped foot in the cul de sac. A tall man who was both very thin and very old, the hair on his head and his beard gleaming silver in the moonlight. A man dressed in long robes, a purple cloak, and heeled boots that clicked against the sidewalk as he began to take his steps down the streets. A man with bright blue eyes that sparkled behind half-moon spectacles and whose nose was very long and crooked as though it had been broken a fair few times.

That man was Albus Dumbledore, and he had come to Privet Drive with more reasons than to admire the painstakingly planted gardens. Or, at least, that was what the cat hoped. For the first time in hours, the feline stretched the stiffness from its limbs, watching curiously as the man dug through his pockets and pulled out a silver, cigarette lighter. He flicked it open in a practiced motion, holding it up to the air and clicked it.

The first street lamp in the long row went out. Another click, and the second followed suit.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The street was dark before long. So dark that not even the beadiest of eyes could look out their window to surmise what was happening. Albus Dumbledore put the tool back into his pocket and the cat stretched once more as the man approached.

“Professor McGonagall,” He called to it, his voice soft. “I thought I might find you here.”

The cat, who was no longer a cat at all but a woman with a grave expression, gazed back at him with a disgruntled expression. Some of her hair, which had been pulled back into a tight bun, was beginning to sag out of place and she reached up to correct it, unthinkingly.

“Albus,” she greeted him, her voice miffed. “How did you know it was me?”

“My dear, I’d recognize your presence even if you had disguised yourself as a blade of grass in this impeccable lawn.” The Headmaster said, smiling cheerfully. “But I must ask, as lovely as this surprise is, why you would be here of all places? Why here, when you could be celebrating? I must have passed a dozen of feasts and parties on my way here. Many of them were quite tempting.”

Professor McGonagall’s mouth pinched into a tight line and her eyebrows twitched. It was clear that she did not think much of the celebrations, her eyes glancing in the direction of the house they were standing just outside of.

“Oh, yes. The parties, the  _ feasts. _ ” She snapped, drawing herself to her full height and folding her arms over her chest. “Careless fools. They might as well march through these muggle streets and declare themselves as they are for all the uproar they’ve caused. Owls flying through broad daylight, shooting stars? It’s been on the news. I heard it.”

She jerked her head in the direction of the home she’d been sitting out in front of, nostrils flaring.

“They’re not idiots. They’ve noticed that something is off. I-”

“My dear Professor,” Dumbledore interrupted her, quietly, his smile never fading. “Surely you can’t contest their right to celebrate. It’s been so long since we’ve had good news. Precious little to be thankful for in over a decade.”

“There's no denying that the reasons for their excitement are justified, Albus.” McGonagall sniffed, growing steadily more and more agitated. “But to lose our heads like this? There’s celebration and then there’s outright carelessness. Running around in broad daylight...dressed in robes and waving their magic about like a sign for the world to see. Swapping rumor after rumor.”

The real reason behind the Professor’s spite began to show through now, clear in the furtive glance that she cast in Dumbledore’s direction. She seemed to be hoping that he’d tell her something. But he said nothing, and so she carried on even more passionately than before.

“Surely you can’t disagree with me, Albus. Just think what a fine thing it would be, if You-Know-Who had vanished, at long last, only for the Muggles to discover our world and begin a war anew.”

When Dumbledore still said nothing, the Professor’s words grew sharper.

“...I suppose he has really gone, Albus?”

No more chances for him to pretend not to have noticed that she was vying for information. The Headmaster sighed.

“It certainly seems to be so,” The man said. His hands disappeared into his pockets, rifling around for something. But this time, instead of the silver lighter, he pulled out a bag of yellowed candies. “Lemon drop?”

Professor McGonagall stared at him.

“... A  _ what? _ ”

“Lemon drop.”

He shook one out of the bag for himself, popping the candy into his mouth and smiling in spite of the initial burst of sour flavour against his tongue.

“They’re a sort of muggle sweet that I’ve grown quite fond of. I was given a bag by-”

“If You-Know-Who has gone.” Professor McGonagall continued, speaking over the praise Dumbledore was giving as candy, as though she thought now was not the time for an adventure down new avenues of  _ sweets. _ “Then we must-”

“Voldemort.”

Professor McGonagall flinched at the correction. Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

“You know I have never seen reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort’s name. And a woman as sensible as yourself should understand why.”

“It’s different for you. Everyone knows--even the monster himself, I’d wager-- that you’re the only one he had reason to be frightened of.”

“Flattery.” Dumbledore accused, bowing his head. “But Voldemort had powers that I will never have.”

“Only because you’re too...well, noble to use them.” The Professor argued. “Don’t try to argue with me, Albus. You know very well that I-- well, that I... I have to know. That I only bring him up after the rumors. You do know what they’re all saying. About what brought an end to this all?”

Her words were rushed now, coming out in a tangle. This was the real reason she had spent her day sitting on a brick wall, rather than enjoying the sudden freedom that You-Know-Who’s downfall bought for them all. The rumor that she would refuse to believe until the second it was verified by the Headmaster himself. A rumor that the Headmaster seemed to still be refusing to address, simply fishing another lemon drop from his bag of sweets. Professor McGonagall nearly slapped the bag out of his hand.

“You  _ do  _ know what they’re saying?” She pressed on, her tone ever sharper. “They say that last night, Voldemort went to Godrics Hollow. That--that he went to find the Potters. They say that Lily and James are...are…”

She can’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to. Dumbledore bowed his head, and that was all the confirmation in the world that she needed. 

“No...no... Lily and James? I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. Albus, I-”

The Headmaster reached out, patting her shoulder.

“It’s a heavy loss, Professor McGonagall. One that I fear we shall carry forever.”

“But that’s not all, is it?” She continued. Her voice trembled as she sought answers that she desperately wished she’d never have to know. “They say that he tried to kill the Potters’ son, Harry. That he couldn’t--that only the boy survived. Somehow, the boy  _ survived _ .”

Dumbledore nodded, the twinkle gone from his eye. McGonagall paled.

“So it’s true? After all he's done...all the people he’s slaughtered in cold blood...he couldn't kill a little boy? How? How could he have survived?”

“I have a few theories,” Dumbledore admitted. “Each as unlikely as the rest. We may never truly know.”

Silence fell between them. Uncertainty hanging in the air and tension visible in their faces. Tears were welling in McGonagall’s eyes and she reached for a handkerchief to blot at them with.

“And the boy? What will happen to him…?”

“It’s interesting that you should ask.” Dumbledore said, his gaze trailing to Number 4. “I assume you know who resides in this household?”

“Of course.” She said, her own gaze darting back to it. “I’ve been here all day...waiting to see if they’d react to any scrap of news. To think, this is Lily Potter’s family...a tragedy, to be sure.”

“Ah, but Professor. This is where I’ve come to leave Harry.”

“No!”

Professor McGonagall’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Albus--be serious! You can’t possibly mean to leave the boy  _ here. _ You can’t. I’ve been watching them all day. You couldn’t ask for people less like us. They’re intolerable. Lily Potter’s sister? A busybody with a squalling son who hits and screams when he’s told no...and the husband? I can't begin to tell you what he's like!"

“It is the best place for him.” Dumbledore said, firmly. “The only place for him. Harry Potter has no living relatives in any other place. I’ll be leaving his Aunt and Uncle a letter, providing them with the necessary information to explain to Harry once he’s old enough to understand.”

“A letter?” She repeated with disbelief. “You can’t think that you can make sense of this all in a letter! These people...they’ll never understand him. Any family in our world would be delighted to take him. To raise him in the world that he belongs in. See reason, Albus!”

Before Dumbledore could try and explain what it would mean for Harry to be raised here, with these people, a low rumbling sound shattered the silence around them. It grew louder and louder as a motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road beside them, as though dropped there by the hand of Merlin himself.

The bike turned off and the man who road it clambered off, his head hung down in shame. Tears were leaking from his beetle-black eyes and trailing down to wet his thick beard.

“Hagrid.” Dumbledore said, sharply. “Where is Harry?”

“He’s... He’s...HE’S GONE MISSIN’.” The man roared, anguish clear in his voice. Whether it was over the loss of the child or fear that he’d disappointed the headmaster remained unclear, and he aimed a kick at his bike, sending it skittering across the street as though it was light as air.

“What?” Professor McGonagall gasped, at the same time that Dumbledore stepped forward, placing a hand on Hagrid’s large arm.

“Hagrid, my dear man.” He said, his voice urgent. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“I--I went to retrieve Harry Potter as asked, sir.” Hagrid said, swallowing back another sob. “An’ the house was in ruins by the time I got there. Lily an’ James...their bodies were there...but the boy was gone. I searched everywhere, but there was no sign of ‘im. Sirius Black showed up jus’ a few moments after I did, lookin’ distraught. I told him that ‘arry was nowhere to be found and ‘e gave me his bike ta come and find you.”

“Gone?” McGonagall repeated, looking faint. “The boy is gone? But that...that’s impossible. Children don’t just vanish. Albus, what…?”

“I don’t think that our Harry has simply vanished.” Albus said. His voice and gaze were suddenly cold, though he spoke no more loudly than he had before. “Someone... I don’t know who...but someone had taken off with him. Hagrid, go back to the house. See if Sirius is still there, and guard it even if he isn’t. No one else is to go near that place until I’ve arrived. Professor McGonagall--I must ask that you return to Hogwarts and watch over the students in my absence.”

“In your absence…? Albus where are you going?”

“To the Ministry.” Dumbledore said, gravely. “I must speak with the Minister at once. Someone has taken Harry Potter... I don’t know for what purpose, but I fear he may be in grave danger.”

* * *

Snape stepped into the dark room, laying Harry gently into the bed that he had transformed into a crib. A simple trip and by no means permanent. He’d have to go and purchase a better one...and quickly. But, for now, it would do.

For a full minute, he stood there, looking down at the child who was illuminated by nothing more than the patch of moonlight that shone in through the window. His scar was the sharpest in relief, but if it pained him, the sleeping child gave no inclination of it. He was at peace...for the moment. Severus envied him for it, but would not begrudge the child any second of it. Not after all the terrors he had seen.

Terror. That was all Severus felt now. He’d done it. Rashly, and with little thought...but he’d done it. He’d taken Harry--had taken Lily’s son and swore to protect him from whatever the future held for the child who vanquished the dark lord. But what now? He had no inkling as to how to raise a child. All he had known for the past eleven years was hate and death and fear. What made him think he could provide love and safety for this child?

_ Lily’s child. _

His mind reminded him once again, strengthening his resolve.

“... Goodnight, Harry.” He said, at last, turning away. With a swish of his cloak, he was out of the boy’s bedroom and heading for his own.

Harry Potter rolled over in his makeshift crib without waking, dreaming of flashing lights and terrible screams that he would not remember in the morning. He slept on, not knowing that he was special. Not knowing that in just a few hours time, the entire Wizarding world would be searching for him, nor that his name would be printed in magical newspapers everywhere deeming him the greatest mystery that the Wizarding world had ever seen. He couldn’t know that this very moment, Albus Dumbledore was alerting the Ministry of Magic that their hero was kidnapped, or that soon thousands of people would meet in secret, lamenting to themselves over the Boy who Lived...and then disappeared without a trace.


	3. Chapter two: Breakfast at Spinner's End

Nearly ten years had passed since the child who vanquished He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named disappeared. A near ten, long years that had taken a toll on all of those who had held out hope for his safe return. With every day that had passed, fewer and fewer people were interested in the search; less Aurors were put on the case as new problems arose that demanded their attention. The Minister of Magic, himself, stopped asking for updates and even the Headmaster seemed to resign himself to the loss of the child.

Time even changed the whispered rumors that centered around him. Slowly, people stopped speaking of him as the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ but as the child who disappeared. No one believed in his return. As far as they were concerned, he had died that night. Perhaps the spell took longer because it didn’t just  _ kill  _ the child, but reduced him to dust. (After all, they reasoned among themselves, no one knew what a killing curse could  _ do  _ to a child. No one had ever been sick enough to try it.) There were those who insisted that it was all a cover-up; fanatics who claimed that the Ministry themselves were behind the boy’s disappearance. That he was being trained to be the ultimate weapon against darkness. But soon, all whispers died out. No one spoke or thought about Harry Potter anymore. As though he’d never existed at all. 

Yet, Harry Potter  _ was  _ still there, untouched and unbothered by the rumors that had circled his existence from the moment he was conceived. Fast asleep, with one arm tossed over his eyes to keep the light from the window from disturbing him and the other tucked around a stuffed toy, resembling a basilisk. 

No one in all the Wizarding World would have ever been able to guess the truth of his disappearance. No one could have ever known that he was just outside of their reach, carefully hidden away in the last house on Spinner’s end. No one...save for the man just outside the door, who had come to wake the boy. 

His quick raps against the door made the first sounds of the day. Harry’s light snoring faltered...and then picked back up again as he merely rolled over and yanked the blankets over his head, defending himself and his stuffie from the morning. 

“Harry,” Severus Snape called from the other side of the door. “It’s time for breakfast.” 

“Five more minutes…” Harry groaned, too softly for the man to hear. 

His bedroom door was pushed open, with some effort, as a stack of Harry’s toys were sitting in front of the door. With an expression of indifference, Snape pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry’s belongings, sending them floating back to his toy chest without any effort. He made his way over to the boy’s bed and gently pulled the blankets back. 

“No, not five more minutes.” He said, flicking his wand at the curtains which pulled apart and let light into the room. “Now.”

Harry slowly opened his eyes, blinking up at Snape. He sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He reached for his glasses, where he left them on the bedside table the night before, and grinned as soon as he could see.

“Morning, Sev!”

“Harry.” Snape said, inclining his head. “You’re getting more and more difficult to wake in the mornings. Perhaps it’s time that I start restricting what books you can take into your room at night.”

His gaze trailed meaningfully to the stack of books that Harry had sitting by his bed; fantastic works centered around potions and spells, and history. Harry was sure that he’d never grow tired of any of it. Well, not  _ bored _ , anyway. He did get tired around one in the morning…

“No!” He argued, rolling to the left and falling all the way out of bed. He landed with a solid ‘thump’ and Snape quickly rose to his feet, looking startled. But Harry popped back up quickly, grinning over the edge of the bed.

“I’m up! I’m up! See?” 

“...So you are.” Snape relented. “Out the door, then. I’m sure our breakfast has grown cold in the time it took me to wake you, spoiled brat.” 

His tone was warm, erasing any bite from his words, and Harry only grinned as he made his way over to the door, hesitating at the doorway. The staircase that led into the main part of the house was black as pitch; the secret passage leading out of the bookcase seeming to have shut behind Snape. 

Harry cast a worried glance behind him, startled to find that Snape was already there, wand held out over Harry’s shoulder.

“ _ Lumos. _ ” He intoned, the light from his wand washing over the staircase.

Relieved, Harry hurried down the stairs and pushed on the button behind the staircase, grinning widely as it swung open, the little nudge of Snape’s hand against his shoulder pushing him out into the little sitting room. 

This was Harry’s favourite part of the house, despite the ominous air it had to it; the feeling of a dark padded cell. While most houses, (as Harry had seen on t.v) had walls lined with pictures of the family who lived in it, this one had  _ books. _ Rows and rows of them, bound in black and brown leather. There was even more of them stacked on top of the coffee table in front of the threadbare sofa. A few were even stacked on the old armchair, which earned Harry a glare from Snape. The only surface in the room, in fact, that seemed to be spared from the stacks was the old television. Harry looked at it longingly. It was still early enough that his cartoons would be on...but one glance from Snape told him that breakfast in front of the television wasn’t going to happen this time. 

He trudged to the kitchen, sitting down at the table and inhaling the scent of eggs and bacon. He prodded the eggs with his finger when Snape wasn’t looking -- still warm. He couldn’t be that mad, then. 

Snape sat down too, scooping up a forkful of eggs while Harry piled ketchup on his own. 

“I will be down in my lab, today.” Snape informed Harry, after a few mouthfuls of his breakfast. 

Harry cast a gloomy look at the door that led down to the room in questions. Snape’s Potions Lab was the only place in the entire house where Harry wasn’t allowed to go, save for the rare occasion when he was invited to assist with something small. It was a fantastic place, full of strange ingredients and large cauldrons. Snape spent most of his time there, lately. 

Harry’s downtrodden expression didn’t go unnoticed by Snape.

“Wipe that frown off of your face, brat.” He growled, but his lips twitched with a barely concealed smile. “If I can get my work done quickly enough, you and I will be going to town. You’re outgrowing all of your clothes. You need new ones.”

“Really?”

Harry beamed. Perhaps it had something to do with spending most of his time in the dark house, but Harry had always been unusually small and skinny for his age. His face was thin, his knees were knobby, and his hair was jet black and stood up all over the place, falling into his bright green eyes. Everything seemed too big on him; even the round glasses on his face. Growing out of anything was an achievement to be proud of. 

“Yes,” Snape said, a little impatiently. He was always aggravated by the subject of Harry growing. “And I will need to restock my cabinets, as it is. So, if you allow me to do my work in silence for a few hours, we can spend the rest of the afternoon out.”

“Food cabinets or potion cabinets?” Harry asked, with thinly concealed hope in his voice. 

“Food.” Snape said, shortly. 

Harry’s face fell. For years, he’d been trying to convince Snape that it’d be alright to take him to a Wizarding shop; that he’d be able to behave himself and wouldn’t break anything or cause trouble, and for years Snape had refused. Harry would give anything to be in the Wizarding world...even if it was only for a few moments. It wasn’t fair, he often thought to himself, that he could  _ know  _ about the world he belonged in, but never step into it. 

“Harry.” Snape said in a tone that he rarely used -- almost  _ pleading  _ \-- “Do not think that I don’t realize how hard this is for you. But understand that I am only concerned with your safety. I promised your mother that-”

“You would keep me safe.” Harry finished, still somewhat cross...but quickly getting over it. “I know. I just wish…”

He trailed off, poking at his eggs. There were a lot of things he could wish for. A chance to see the Wizarding world...a chance to know his parents, or to do magic like most children his age. But none of them seemed like a fair thing to say. Snape had given up a lot to take care of him. He never said so, but Harry could tell. 

“I know.” Snape said. He seemed to be able to guess all of Harry’s feelings anyway, even without being told. 

“But what  _ is  _ dangerous about the Wizarding world?” Harry pressed, unable to stop himself. “If I could just know...maybe I wouldn’t want to go as badly.” 

That was a lie. He’d always want to go. But it was the best weapon he had for needling information out of Snape. 

“It’s more than I could possibly explain.” Snape said, stubbornly. “More than I can give details for...there are people out there who are looking for you. People who would give anything to have you at their command. They hear your name and think only of what powers you must possess to have been able to withstand what you did.”

Harry’s hand rose to the scar on his forehead, unbidden. A shudder slipped up his spine. He didn’t know much about what happened to his parents, the topic too painful for Snape to discuss at length, but he did know that he’d done something impossible that night. Something that he didn’t even remember.

“But I was just a baby.” Harry argued, for the umpteenth time. “And -- And I don’t even remember doing it, Sev. Why can’t we just tell them that?” 

“We just can’t.” Snape snapped at him. Then, with great effort, the man forced himself to smile, changing the subject. “So. What books did you steal away with last night?” 

Harry bit his bottom lip, torn between the desire to continue to argue for his right to see the Wizarding world...and the desire to impress Snape with how much he’d been teaching himself. The latter of the two wants won, and Harry leaned forward with excitement in his green eyes. 

“I was reading about Goblin Rebellions!” He said, proudly. “Urg the Unclean and...things like that. I didn’t know they could do the same kind of magic as us...the book said that if Goblins were given a wand, they could use the incantations.”

“They don’t need wands.” Snape said, somewhat dismissively. “They can use magic without them. Unlike most of us...with a few exceptions.” 

“Do I get a wand?” Harry asked, suddenly, his eyes widening. Snape looked as though he’d just swallowed a lemon. 

“...Yes.” He said, after some time. “All wizards do.”

“When do I get it?!” 

Harry nearly rose out of his seat, eyes wide with excitement. This was a conversation they never had; no matter what Snape told him about his parents, the Wizarding world, or what it all meant for Harry, they never talked about what he needed to be a  _ real  _ Wizard. 

Snape closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat. 

“...This is a conversation for another time.”

“But-”   


“Do not argue with me. We will talk...just not now.”

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from protesting, slumping in his own seat and pushing his mostly untouched breakfast away. Snape eyed his plate but said nothing. Instead, he rose from the table and collected both of their plates, setting them into the sink and staring out the little window that sat above it. 

When he turned back around, his expression was less exasperated. He leaned back against the sink and nodded. 

“I suddenly find that I am in no mood to keep either of us locked away in this godforsaken house for much longer. We’re going shopping before I set off to work. Go and get dressed.” 

Harry’s expression brightened, all ill-feelings pushed aside for the moment. He jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room, dashing up the stairs so quickly that he fell. Twice. 

Any chance to get out of Spinner’s end was better than a conversation about a wand. At least in Harry’s eyes. And he moved so quickly to his bedroom that he wasn’t able to see the owl as it flew by their kitchen window, carrying a letter addressed to him.


End file.
